


What I've Been Dreaming Of

by Shea67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hiatus fic, Implied Bottom Castiel, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9436676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shea67/pseuds/Shea67
Summary: A destiel ficlet I wrote over hiatus. Enjoy!This turned out a bit different than what I promised, but I'm still happy with the results. My best friend Katie (beecause) edited for me and helped make this story what it is. You can send me prompts on Tumblr! My ask box is always open.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A destiel ficlet I wrote over hiatus. Enjoy!
> 
> This turned out a bit different than what I promised, but I'm still happy with the results. My best friend Katie (beecause) edited for me and helped make this story what it is. You can send me prompts on Tumblr! My ask box is always open.

“I thought you were dead.” Castiel murmured as he gazed up at him, his voice barely a whisper. His tone was more gruff than usual, exhaustion and worry becoming prominent. The weeks that Dean had been gone were long and worrisome. He had no way of finding the two wayward brothers, no way of communicating or knowing if they were okay. All in all, it was easily the longest, most mentally grueling month in Castiel’s several billion years of existence. Could Dean have died? What about Sam? Why couldn’t he contact either of them? Those questions plagued him like a broken record player, repeating his worries again and again until he finally broke down.

For the first week of their absence, Castiel spent his time in the bunker, specifically Dean’s room. Alone. Waiting. He thought that they would come home any day now. Maybe a little worse for wear, but they _would_ come home, he had convinced himself. They just had to. He began to get antsy during the second week, pacing around the library that Sam occupied for most of his leisurely afternoons, the kitchen where Dean made sandwiches that were stacked high with various lunch meats and cheeses, the many bedrooms that had not been occupied since the Men of Letters were around. It seemed as though the more Castiel paced, the more he fretted. On the third week, Castiel stopped pacing and waited outside, expecting to hear the familiar purr of the Impala. On the fifth week, he was still looking. 

“Yeah, but that’s no excuse to threaten war with the fucking _Reapers_ , Cas. Christ, what were you thinking?”

“Dean, I–” 

“That was a rhetorical question. I don’t want to hear it.” 

Dean was angry, almost livid with his desperate searching. That much was painfully clear. 

“I thought you were dead,” he repeated, the slightest crack in his voice. “I didn’t – I didn’t know what else to do, Dean. Tell me that you wouldn’t have done the same for Sam, the same for me.”

Dean just sighed and kneeled next to the teary husk of an angel that is his boyfriend. “I would’ve done the same thing.” He said eventually, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s shoulders with the barest of smiles. “Which is why I’m entitled to tell you that it’s a shitty idea.”

They both sat quietly for a while, neither making a move to get up or leave one another’s space. For now, they both were content just sitting there in the dirt, outside of a cabin in the middle of actual-fucking-nowhere. The roads had been blocked off by police before they could leave the area, so they decided to hunker down for a little while. There were trees where they sat, not like the ghastly pines of Purgatory, but maple trees with crinkly, orange leaves that were carried off with the occasional gust of chilly wind. The sky above began to darken, so one could only guess how long they sat there. 

Eventually, the silence between them was broken. “Where is Sam?” Castiel asked, glancing over at the older Winchester. As the sun continued to set and stars began to shine, it was harder to see the more fine details of his face. The beauty of Dean’s freckles and the beginnings of his crow’s feet, for one. The stars above, gorgeous and twinkling, were still no replacement of Dean, graying hair and all. 

“I don’t know.” Dean said with a soft, breathy sigh that created a tiny cloud of already-dissipating fog in front of the pair. “We were both interrogated in there and kinda bolted when shit went down. I know he got out, though. Before the roadblocks. He’s probably headed back to Kansas by now.”

Castiel nodded and stayed quiet for another few minutes. Dean didn’t seem to mind that much.

“We should go inside for the night, you’re getting cold.” Castiel said, slowly standing up on weary legs. He offered a hand to Dean, who gratefully took it and stood up alongside him. The pair walked to the back door, which was currently hanging a bit strange on its hinges. Before Dean could comment, Castiel clarified for the sorry state of the door. “I couldn’t pick the lock.” He explained. 

Dean genuinely laughed for the first time in weeks. He followed Castiel inside the cabin, which was abandoned by its owners for the season (but was inhabited by a certain angel for several days). The door could still lock, though, which was a miracle in and of itself. Castiel took a shower first while Dean absently looked over the owner’s DVD collection. It wasn’t terrible, but there were (almost) too many cheesy ‘80s comedies if you asked him. But if he was being honest, zoning out to Clue or Star Wars with Castiel cuddled up to his side didn’t sound awful, really. In fact, that’s all Dean wanted right now. 

It wasn’t much later that Castiel finished up in the shower and they silently traded places. After Dean had stripped down to his boxers behind the locked door of the bathroom, he surveyed his body’s damage in the slightly fogged mirror. There were pink scars, red scabs, and dried blood all over him, all from the “methods” used to get him to confess to the assassination of the now-late president. It was a miracle nothing was infected, really. Or at least, it didn’t _feel_ like anything was. 

“Jesus,” he muttered, tracing his fingers along a particularly gnarly scar, just of the many that covered him. Dean was really getting too old for this. The hot water stung as he stepped inside the shower, but Dean knew he needed it, so he grit his teeth and washed up anyway. 

When he got out, Dean walked into the bedroom, where Castiel was already laying under the covers. The angel seemed tired, exhausted, but as the hunter walked in clad in boxers and a pair of pajama pants belonging to the cabin’s owner, he sat up, now wide awake. “What happened to you?” Castiel asked, sounding mortified as he scanned over Dean’s various injuries - some healed and others not.

Dean crawled under the covers beside him. “I don’t really want to talk about it today,” he admitted with a mumble. His boyfriend just nodded, gingerly wrapping an arm around his beloved’s pronounced shoulders. “That’s… That’s alright.” He assured. “Sleep, Dean. You need it.” 

Dean didn't sleep. Instead, he tossed and turned all night as Castiel slept soundly by his side. He just couldn't get comfortable, couldn't tell his own mind to just shut up. God, it was killing him. The sleeplessness; the worry that continued to prod at his cluttered brain. 

“Stop thinking so much,” Castiel grumbled in his low tone of voice, peeking open his blue eyes. He didn't like it when Dean was like this, and being around a tired Dean wasn't very fun. “You overthink things far too much.” 

The green-eyed man simply smiled a little to reassure him, brushing back the angel’s messy hair with endearment. His fingers tangled in the dark strands and Dean let out a small sigh. There were times during his torture that he thought about touching the angel who saved him.

“Are you sure that you're okay, Dean?” He continued, obviously concerned. Castiel had been concerned about Dean ever since they found each other again, and the latter of which didn't know how to feel about it. 

“Uh. No, not really,” Dean answered honestly as he closed his eyes again. “I just don’t want to think about it anymore, Cas. I don’t want to think about any of it. This entire lousy month, hunting… I’m just… I can’t.” His voice was quiet, like he was admitting to some sort of terrible, long-kept secret. His gaze was fixed onto the worn wooden floorboards, where the moonlight had crept in and cast itself on each rigid fiber. 

Castiel combed his fingers through Dean’s hair in return, sharing a gentle look with him. They always liked to touch each other like this, to take turns. “You have dedicated a lifetime to saving others, Dean. This isn’t your fight anymore, if it ever truly was. Let someone else finish it.”

Dean was quiet for a solid minute, just meeting Castiel’s gaze with a clenched jaw and furrowed brows. After everything they had been through, especially recently with God and Amara and now the fucking _Secret Service_ , Cas just wanted him to quit? Take the easy way out and live some apple pie life, while other hunters, _good people_ , died for the greater good? Died for him?

The mere idea of living that kind of happy life with Cas was enticing. It was a life without worry. A life of homemade meals and morning blowjobs with his favorite blue-eyed and backwards-tie-wearing angel. It was like a redo of the life that Lisa had tried to give him with her son Ben when he just wasn’t ready for it, but something like that was what Dean could get on board with, or at the very least consider. None of this he would admit aloud, of course. Verbalizing the fact that he wanted to settle down and live out his days in peace made it too real. Too tangible. Castiel seemed to understand, though, and for that Dean was incredibly grateful. 

“Shut up and kiss me,” the Winchester said eventually, meeting the angel’s fond gaze with a slight smirk of rebellion. 

And so he did. 

Dean wanted a kiss that was rough and nearly all tongue; the kind that would leave them both breathless and desperate, rutting up against one another until climax. That wasn’t what Castiel gave him, though. _This_ kiss began as a tease, almost. The barest of brushes of the angel’s lips against Dean’s. And that’s all it was, just a simple PG kiss, not the hot and heavy make out session that Dean was convinced he needed. And sure, maybe it wasn’t the kind of thing he craved, but it was… nice. Short-lived, if he had to complain. 

“Dean?” Castiel asked as they parted, much too soon for the hunter’s liking. 

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” the angel reminded Dean as he sat up and straddled him. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Dean said simply. Before he elaborated on exactly what it was that he wanted, Castiel was already taking action. He pressed kisses along Dean's neck and chest, making a point to kiss each scar – new or old – that he came across. Maybe that was one of the perks of being with Cas for so long: with only one word, or a look shared between them, they knew how to take care of the other. Knew what they needed. 

That was exactly what Castiel did. He seemed to almost cherish every inch of Dean’s scarred body, beginning with his chest, eventually working up to his neck. He had rebuilt all of it himself, which made everything even more special and intimate.

“Will you kiss me again?” 

Castiel just smiled at that, looking down at Dean as though he was the most gorgeous, precious being in the entire world. Dean had a black eye for crying out loud, more scars and imperfections than he could possibly count, but Castiel still found him to be desirable. That brought Dean more comfort than he knew how to express, and if Dean had wished he would have healed him, but he didn't. Dean liked to keep his scars because they reminded him that he had been strong. Even if he wasn’t now, he was at some point and he _could_ be again. 

They kissed again and it didn't start out nearly as gentle that time. Instead, Cas seemed to dominate it which was what Dean had initially wanted. It was all tongue and clashing teeth as they made out without much of a care for anything else besides the two of them. And sure, maybe Dean was at the top of everyone’s most-wanted list. Maybe he had more battles to face. Right then, however, in that moment where Dean could only feel love and safety, neither villains nor battles seemed to matter to him. Castiel and Dean didn't want to think about what tomorrow could bring, so they just didn't. To Dean, it was that simple. 

With trial and error, they could make this apple pie life away from hunting and pain and death eventually work out for the better. Even after twenty minutes of foreplay, when Castiel prepped himself with the absentee cabin guy's lube and mounted Dean without much hesitance, part of his mind lingered on that thought. The hope that they could live a life that he almost felt guilty for wanting, but wholeheartedly needed.


End file.
